


Eggception

by Woofemus



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 17:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13745697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: “Oh, you poor thing, she didn’t… she didn’t tell you?” Pyra asks in a hushed voice.Mòrag squints at her. “Didn’t… didn’t tell mewhat?”





	Eggception

**Author's Note:**

> oops back to shitposting and also with 4829% zero editing

The morning seems to start off normal enough. At least, as normal as things can get when Mòrag wakes and _doesn’t_ feel Brighid’s warmth anywhere near her. That in itself is odd, Brighid’s always liked to sleep in as long as Mòrag was still asleep. Perhaps she’d had a dream and woken early, and somehow managed to sneak away without Mòrag’s knowing.

In any case, Brighid isn’t by her side when she wakes. She’s not worried, they’re resting in Garfont right now, but Mòrag has half a mind filled with curiosity.

After getting dressed, she goes outside of the inn, looking around. It’s still early in the morning, almost none of the others in their band have woken. Ah, no. Mòrag spies Pyra getting up from where she’s sitting at one of the tables. No doubt enjoying one of her favorite Jenerossi Teas that’s only served at Garfont.

Pyra smiles warmly as Mòrag approaches. “Good morning, Mòrag.”

“Good morning, Pyra,” Mòrag greets with a nod. “I was wondering if you knew where Brighid was?”

Pyra gasps loudly, staring at Mòrag with wide eyes. She’s... surprised? Shocked, almost. Mòrag’s confused. What does this mean?

“Oh, you poor thing, she didn’t… she didn’t tell you?” Pyra asks in a hushed voice.

Mòrag squints at her. “Didn’t… didn’t tell me _what_?”

Pyra looks troubled instead, shaking her head. “I thought it was obvious. I mean, Brighid… she’s…” she trails off, and shakes her head. Rather than finish the rest of her words, Pyra only reaches out to pat Mòrag’s shoulder, beaming suddenly. “You’ll find out soon enough about the happy news.”

She doesn’t.

In fact, she doesn’t see Brighid for the next several days.

All the while, it seems like _everyone_ keeps sneaking glances at each other when she walks through. It feels as if all of Garfont is in on some kind of big secret that Mòrag isn’t privy to. For Architect’s sake, even _Zeke_ looks like he knows, when he grins widely at her and Pandoria has to nudge his side to keep him from spilling.

Frustrating. That’s how Mòrag feels. And _happy_ news? What is _happy_ about her Blade going off and disappearing for _days_ on end? But fortunately, the Architect takes pity on her because she manages to get a break soon enough.

On another morning, Mòrag’s jolted out of her sleep when she hears a rather loud thud. She hurriedly sits up, looking all over the room. Through her grogginess, she manages to hear the click of the door. Mòrag snaps wide awake now, realizing Brighid’s gone once more. Perhaps if she’s fast enough, she’ll see what Brighid’s been doing all day.

Mòrag hops out of bed, biting back her curses when the chill of the morning air bites at her skin. T-this is nothing, not when she has a chance to know what Brighid’s been up to for the past few days. She’s hurriedly putting on her uniform (why does it have _so many layers_ ) but when she gets to the final piece, that’s when she realizes.

Her coat is gone.

Brighid’s taken her coat.

Mòrag narrows her eyes and proceeds to stalk out the door after her Blade.

It’s early in the morning, as in the sun hasn’t even risen yet. The only people awake are the ones on night shifts, or the Blades barely getting back from their mercenary missions, half dead on their feet as they stumble back into the village. Good, this means no one will see the Special Inquisitor without her coat for another several hours.

… and also no one will see the Special Inquisitor shivering in the morning air.

Mòrag manages to spot Brighid walking down a path. There’s no mistaking that telltale sign of flaming azure hair, and also her coat trailing behind Brighid, her stature too short for her to properly wear. Mòrag sighs at the sight. Brighid could at least hold it up to keep the coattails from getting dirty.

Mòrag follows after Brighid, trailing behind as closely as she can. It’s a feat, especially when Brighid unexpectedly looks behind her once and Mòrag ends up diving for the nearest pile of crates. Except the odd thing is she lands on something soft.

“Mòrag, darling, how surprising to see you here—” Mòrag shushes Dahlia with a wave of her hand, thanks her for her help, and returns to following after Brighid.

It takes a long while but finally, they come across a small cave. Mòrag remembers this place, they needed both Brighid and Pyra’s flames to burn down the vines, and… some… other help. Mòrag doesn’t remember. There were always strange obstacles in their way that they somehow got past one way or another. But Brighid’s going inside, so Mòrag follows, close behind.

There’s only one entrance and exit from this cave, and they’re going right through it. Mòrag’s going to confront Brighid about everything (and then tell her to return her coat so she can wash it properly.)

Until Mòrag sees what’s inside the cave.

“L-Lady Mòrag! Was not expecting to see you here!” Brighid squeals, as she stands next to… a… next to a...

“B-Brighid,” Mòrag can only say in return, eyes widening as she takes in the entire scene before. “This… t-this is… Brighid, are… you… I...”

“It is egg, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid explains, having apparently recomposed herself now. Somehow. Brighid slips off Mòrag’s coat with her wings and carefully fits it on the egg. “So sorry for taking coat, but thought poor egg might need more warmth!”

“I…” Mòrag can’t form words, nor thoughts. How can she? And now she _really_ can’t, when Brighid goes and hops atop the egg, carefully balancing herself like a nesting nopon. “Why? Brighid… I... “ She tries to swallow down her incredulity, except it comes right back up. “ _Why?_ ”

“Why? Lady Mòrag ask why? Does Lady Mòrag not see what Brighid is?” And Brighid cracks open her eyes just a peep, to look down at Mòrag. “Maybe Lady Mòrag is the one walking around with eyes closed.”

Mòrag suddenly feels like sleeping and never waking up.

* * *

Mòrag finds that none of her questions have been answered. In fact, more have been raised. Brighid’s refused to say anything other than _delicate nopon matters_ and Mòrag doesn’t even know where to begin with that.

For one, Brighid is a _Blade_ and not actually a real nopon no matter how much she looks like one. Two, _where_ did that egg even come fr—

Mòrag narrows her eyes. Wait.

Exactly how _do_ nopon… reproduce?

Mòrag doesn’t even know where to begin with that.

If… if Brighid was… the… t-the mother—wait, the nopon had terms for this. Mòrag wracks her mind. Okay, she’s figured this out, from what she remembers of Tora speaking. So, if Brighid is… the mamapon, then who… _who_ is the dadapon?

Mòrag looks down at her hands and squints at them.

… this is getting her nowhere.

Mòrag doesn’t _need_ to know, exactly, but…

She needs to know.

For posterity, of course.

So Mòrag asks the person she trusts will give her the answer she seeks.

“A curious question, Lady Mòrag,” Dromarch says contemplatively. He’s raised a paw to his chin, stroking his fur as he thinks. “It’s clear that nopon have fur, but they refer to their wings as feathers…”

“Do they lay eggs like a hiln? Or do they, perhaps, give live birth as humans and other creatures like feris do? Or… perhaps they reproduce like grogs, nurturing the eggs inside and waiting for their young to hatch out of them?” He pauses, tilting his head. “I realize now that the third method seems similar to the second method of reproduction so I shall explain the differences. The third method has the young receive nourishment from yolk rather than—”

Dromarch continues to go on, most likely forgetting that Mòrag is still in front of him, and also doesn't understand him either, as he makes his conjectures. Mòrag wants to ask why and how Dromarch could possibly know all this information but she is afraid to ask. Sometimes, knowing too much can also be a curse, she finds.

“—the better thing, of course, is that we must figure out where exactly do nopon classify themselves. But I fear that is an argument neither of us are ready for.” Dromarch takes a deep breath, and looks up at Mòrag. “There can only be one conclusion for the egg, Lady Mòrag…” He clears his throat, clearly intending to make his findings as dramatic as possible.

“It was delivered by a flying tirkin.”

* * *

At the end of the day, both everything and nothing makes sense to Mòrag. Brighid continues to go to the cave and… tend to her… egg, and Mòrag’s resolved to stop thinking about nopon and their anatomy and… nesting habits.

(But Brighid isn’t even a _real_ nopon—)

Until one day, Brighid’s waking her up early in the morning.

“Lady Mòrag! Lady Mòrag! Today is day! Must come to see child! Brighid worked so hard to keep warm, Lady Mòrag must come to see!” Brighid says as she continues to bounce atop of the lump of blankets that is Mòrag.

“Yes, Brighid, okay—please stop bouncing on me!”

Several minutes later, a bleary-eyed Mòrag comes stumbling out of the inn. Brighid has one of her wings wrapped around her wrist, trying to tug her along as fast as she can. Mòrag’s trying to keep up, really, she is. She’s never seen Brighid so excited before, and she wants to share in her enthusiasm.

But also, Mòrag is tired, and she’s _still_ cold because Brighid never gave back her coat. Why is Uraya so cold?

Once they get into the tunnel of the cave though, Mòrag hears a cracking sound echoing through the air. Brighid lets out a surprised chirp and lets go of Mòrag, rushing ahead. Now, Mòrag can’t help but actually wake up a little bit more.

She comes into the middle of the cave to see the egg twitching. It’s really hatching. Even Mòrag can’t help but feel some excitement now that she’s seeing the actual thing. Already, there’s a crack on the eggshell. Brighid is trying her hardest to keep the egg upright, gasping and making awed noises. She looks like a proud mother—er, mamapon, trying to encourage her… child, to… make it out, if Mòrag had to say.

Finally, after what feels like hours even though the reality of it is several minutes, the egg cracks.

A bird rolls out out of the egg.

A _bird_ rolls out of the egg.

_A bird rolls out of the egg._

Mòrag’s eyes, already half-lidded from fatigue, become tiny slits as she stares.

It’s… a bird, some… kind of humanoid bird, and it’s… green. Strangely, it looks like it’s already wearing clothes. How. And there’s something strapped on its back, something that looks like a weapon, suspiciously similar to—

Mòrag’s wonder is slowly turning to horror.

“Oh! Wonderful child!” Brighid cries out, cradling the bird with her wings. “What wonderful Blade you are! Brighid knew it was good idea to take care of egg! Come, Lady Mòrag, look at beautiful daughter!”

“... _Blade_?” Only Mòrag can hear herself whisper.

Is… is this… possible? A… Blade?

Mòrag looks down at her hands again, suddenly feeling an existential crisis.

“Hmmmmm,” comes from the bird Blade, slowly looking over at the both of them. “Parents?” she asks.

Mòrag shakes her head no just as Brighid eagerly nods hers.

“Uhh… I don’t really understand, but okay,” the bird says, nodding to herself. Then, she looks back up at Mòrag. “Uhhhhh, who did you say you were again?” she asks, speaking slowly as if she’s still lost and entirely unsure of what’s even going on right now. At least, that’s how Mòrag feels too.

“I never gave it in the first place,” Mòrag is already muttering before she can help herself. But she clears her throat. Introductions always need to be proper. “My name is Mòrag. May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?”

“My name?” The bird lolls her head from side to side, mumbling to herself. “My… name,” she mumbles, over and over again. “Uh… hold on, let me—”

“Oh! _Oh!!!_ I got it!” The bird lazily grins at them and stands up, raising a fist in the air. “My name! I remember it now.”

“Yeah, it’s Bin—”

* * *

Mòrag flings the covers off herself and sits upright in bed, gulping in several mouthfuls of air. A dream. Of course it’d all been a dream. Nothing else could explain… well, _everything_.

“Lady Mòrag?” Mòrag turns her head to find Brighid already at her side, touching her arm in concern. Brighid, _wholly_... humanoid Blade, and not… not…

Mòrag closes her eyes and takes another deep breath. “I’m… I’m fine now, Brighid,” she says slowly.

“Are you sure?” Brighid doesn’t sound convinced, and frankly, Mòrag isn’t either. Mòrag takes another deep breath.

“Can… can I ask you a question?” Mòrag mumbles. She doesn’t want to do this now, but there’s a burning need inside of her to know, right now, _right now_. Brighid raises her eyebrows and almost wants to say no, but Mòrag seems intent on asking it anyway.

“Of course, Lady Mòrag,” she says, not knowing she’s two seconds away from regretting her words. Mòrag nods, and looks straight into Brighid’s eyes, every hint of seriousness within them.

“Brighid, how do you think nopon reproduce?”


End file.
